by Lauren Royal
Humming a careless tune, Mary ran circles around him. He smiled at her indulgently. “And why not? It’s not so very far.”
“It’s just that…well, they usually ride down in a carriage.” Clarice pushed back a wisp of hair that had escaped her blond plaited bun. “Or on horseback.”
“They?”
“The family, I mean.” She reached out to stop her daughter’s dance, pulling Mary’s small body back against her taller one. Like a shield, Cam thought. “Of course, some of those from the village who work there walk, but the family—”
“I’m not the family,” he said with a shrug, wishing he could set her at ease.
“But the new Lady Cainewood is your cousin, isn’t she?”
“Aye, Caithren is kin. First cousins, and all. But I come from simple folk, Clarice—” He stepped closer. “May I call you Clarice?”
Her cheeks glowed pink in the firelight. Mary squirmed, but Clarice held her tight and nodded.
“Clarice, then. Believe me, Clarice, I have far more in common with you than with the Chases. A baronet is yet a commoner, you know, and before last month I wasn’t even that, and never thought to be. Until my cousin, Caithren’s brother, died—”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down to her daughter’s curly head.
He waved a hand. Although he mourned his cousin’s untimely death, they hadn’t been close. “Until he died, I had no property to call my own. No prospect of any, either. So you see, I’m naught but a simple country lad.”
At the word lad, she glanced up and eyed him sharply. He wished he could bite back the word. “A simple country man, I mean.”
She nodded slowly, but it was clear she didn’t agree. She set Mary free and retrieved her wooden spoon. “Why did you come here?” she asked again.
“I…”
Mary crossed her wee arms. “He promised to tell me a story.”
“Did he?” Toying with the spoon, Clarice looked dubious.
“Oh, yes! He said he knows tales of fairies and brownies.” The lassie’s eyes danced when she looked to Cameron. “Didn’t you, my lord?”
“I’m not a lord, Mary.”
“But you did promise me a story, yes?”
“Aye. That I did.”
A small bed sat in one corner, and Mary flounced her way over and perched on its edge. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, tell me one, then. A tale of fairies and brownies. Or one about a princess.”
Failing to hide a smile, Clarice turned back to stir her pot of preserves. “Mary wishes to grow up and become a princess,” she told Cam. “Though I tell her that’s never to be.”
“Princesses live in castles.” Back and forth, Mary swung her feet off the edge of the bed. “Mama says I’ll never live in a castle, and I may as well get used to the…what is it you say, Mama?”
“The fact.” Still facing away, Clarice set down her wooden spoon.
“The fact, yes. That I’ll never live in a castle, and I may as well get used to the fact.”
“Hmm…I must say I disagree.” Skirting a rough, well-scrubbed table, Cam passed near enough to Clarice that he could smell her feminine scent over that of the strawberries. He paused when a sudden, vivid image invaded his mind: a lovely blonde figure chasing a curly-haired child up and down Leslie Castle’s vegetable patch, their laughter echoing round the craggy green hills.
He shook his head to clear it. “You could very well end up living in a castle, Miss Mary. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Then have you never heard the story of Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit?”
With a small huff of disapproval, Clarice turned toward him, then jumped back when she saw how close he stood. He whirled to catch her before she could stumble into the fire, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders.
“Nippit who?” Mary asked, clearly delighted.
Her mother’s gray eyes were wide with embarrassment. They seemed to darken. Was it his imagination, or was she trembling?
“Nippit who?” Mary repeated.
Reluctantly he dropped his hands and turned to the lass, then couldn’t help but smile at her cocked head and avid expression. “Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit aren’t people. It’s the story of a commoner who became a princess.”
“Oooh. See, Mama?” Mary didn’t wait for her mother’s answer. “Tell me,” she said to Cam.
Brow furrowed, Clarice walked slowly to the table and seated herself before a gigantic bowl of strawberries.
“In a country far across the sea lived a prince in a grand castle—”
“Was it pretty?” Mary interrupted.
“Aye, very pretty.” Without waiting to be invited, Cam sank onto the bench beside Clarice. “It was full of lovely furniture, beautiful artwork, and rare ornaments. One of them was a wee glass shoe which would fit only the most delicate foot in the kingdom.”
Mary’s feet ceased their swinging motion. “Like mine?” She stared down at her tiny pink toes.
While Clarice pointedly ignored him and worked at hulling her strawberries, he leaned across the table and craned his neck, pretending to peruse the wee lass’s foot. “Why, a dainty little foot like yours exactly. And the prince, he loved dainty maidens, he did, and he decided he wouldn’t marry until the day he found a maiden who fit the shoe.” Under the cover of adjusting his breeches, he scooted a wee bit closer to Clarice. “That lucky lass would become his wife.”
“And then she’d be a princess,” Mary said.
“Aye, that she would. So the prince called one of his knights and gave him the task of riding back and forth across the kingdom until he found a maiden the glass shoe would fit.”
“And did he find one?”
“Patience, Miss Mary. You must listen to what happened.” Wondering if perhaps he should also practice patience, but unable to help himself, he touched her mother on the arm. “Is that not so, Clarice?”
Startled, she looked up and met his eyes. “Patience, yes.” Her gaze flicked to where his fingers rested, and when he didn’t remove them, she took a strawberry from the bowl and pushed it into his hand.
Clever woman, he thought, pleased and amused.
Mary’s feet resumed swinging again. “So what happened?”
“The knight rode back and forth and forth and back, all around the kingdom, summoning all the maidens to come try on the shoe.” He popped the small berry into his mouth. “When word got out that whoever could fit it would be the prince’s bride, you can wager that every maiden in the land begged to try it on.” As he swallowed, his own shoe met Clarice’s beneath the table.
“And did it fit any maidens?”
“Well, not for the longest time. Try as they might, no maidens could fit their feet into the little glass shoe. Even those who prided themselves on their dainty feet went away in tears.”
Clarice moved her foot away…and then, very slowly, she slid it back.
Not daring to sneak a glance at her, Cameron focused on her daughter instead. “Until one day when the knight came upon a house where a laird had once lived—”
“A laird?” Mary’s blue eyes looked puzzled. “What’s a laird?”
“A Scottish lord, more or less.” When she nodded, he went on. “But the laird had died, and his fortune was gone, so his wife and two daughters worked hard to put food on the table and clothing on their backs.”
“Were they beautiful, the daughters? And pleasant, as befits a princess?”
“One of them was bitter and angry at the bad luck that had befallen them. But the younger one was always happy and sang as she went about her hard work. A wee lass she was, a bonnie, sweet thing.”
“Like me?” Mary asked.
Clarice stifled a laugh.
Cameron’s lips twitched as Mary flung herself back onto the bed so that she stared up at the smoke-stained ceiling. “Aye, very much like you.”
“So what happened?”
“When the knight rode into their courtyard holding forth the shoe, the olde
r lass ran forward to try it on. But the younger one didn’t.”
“Why is that?” Mary queried the ceiling. She raised a hand into the air, squinted up, and traced the path of a distant beam with one wee finger. “Did she not want to be a princess?”
“She guessed her feet were small enough to fit the shoe, but she couldn’t imagine herself as the wife of a prince. She thought people would make fun of her and say she wasn’t fit to be a princess, so she decided it was better to keep back and not even try on the shoe.”
“I wouldn’t think that,” Mary declared.
Clarice looked up from her work. “No, you wouldn’t, poppet. But you should. You should learn your place in the world.”
“Nay, she shouldn’t,” Cam disagreed. “Her place is what she makes it, as is yours. We are none of us born to a single destiny—I’m living proof of that.”
Clarice’s hands worked faster. “Not all of us are so lucky.”
“You might find yourself lucky someday.” Reaching across her for another strawberry, he advanced further, inching closer until their shoulders touched.
She stilled, drawing in a shaky breath. “I am lucky. I have Mary.” She smiled at the wee lass. “That is luck enough for me—I have no dreams of living in castles.”
“Well, I do.” Mary rose from the trundle and dragged another bench out to sit across from Cameron.
Sighing, he beat a hasty retreat down his own bench. It wouldn’t do to romance Clarice in clear sight of her child.
Mary plunked herself down and laced her little fingers together on the tabletop. “What happened to the daughters?”
“The knight gave the glass shoe to the older lass, who carried it up to her bedchamber. Some time passed, until, to the surprise of all, she came back down the stairs with the shoe on her foot.”
“Did it truly fit?”
“Well, not exactly. She walked with a wee limp and her face was white as a puffy summer cloud. But only her little sister noticed, and she kept quiet.”
Mary shook her head, clearly disapproving of the little sister.
Cameron shared a smile with Clarice. “The knight was so happy to find a lass who fit the shoe, he jumped on his horse and rode to the castle to tell the prince. The next day, the prince gathered his courtiers, and they all rode together to meet and bring home his bride.”
“Did he fancy her?”
“Well, there was some excitement, I expect you’ll imagine, when the prince’s party arrived. Though they were poor, the mother gathered all the food she could find for a feast. The selfish sister didn’t help at all, but went to her chamber to don whatever fine clothes she could find to impress the prince. When all was ready, the younger sister didn’t come to the table, but hid herself instead. She knew that her foot was the smallest in the house—aye, maybe in the kingdom—and she worried that if the prince saw her it could ruin her sister’s plans.”
“But the prince saw her anyway, didn’t he?”
“Nay, for she hid herself well, behind an enormous black cauldron in the courtyard. The prince and his courtiers had a merry evening with many toasts to the couple. And when it was all over, the bride-to-be rode away with him on his horse, so full of pride she didn’t bother to say her farewells to her sister and their mother.”
Mary climbed from her bench to hug Clarice around the middle. “Not even to her mother?”
When Clarice bent her head to kiss her daughter’s curly blond crown, Cameron was sure he’d never seen as touching a picture as the two of them together.
“Not even to her mother.” He paused while Clarice drew Mary up to sit on her lap. “But not long after they set upon the road, a wee bird sang from a tree. He trilled, ‘Nippit fit and clippit fit, behind the prince rides, But pretty fit and little fit, ahint the cauldron hides.’”
“Oooh . . .” Mary’s blue eyes grew wider. “There is the name of the tale!”
“Aye. And the prince cried, ‘What is this that bird doth say?’ You can guess he wasn’t truly happy with the bride his knight had found for him. He asked, ‘Have you a sister, madam?’”
“Did she tell him?”
“To her credit, she didn’t lie.”
“Mama says I must never lie.”
“She is wise, your mama. My aunt used to say, ‘Tell the truth an’ shame the deil.’”
The lassie cocked her head. “The deil?”
“The devil, aye? It means you should always tell the truth. The older sister didn’t lie, but she told the prince in a whisper, ‘My sister is only a very wee one.’”
“Did he hear her?”
“Aye, for he was listening hard for the answer he hoped to hear. ‘We will go back and find this wee sister,’ he told his courtiers, ‘for when I sent forth the shoe, I had no mind that the wearer should nip her foot and clip her foot in order to make it fit.”
“Ouch!” Mary shuddered, then yanked a stem off a strawberry. Making a proper mess of it, she stuffed it into her mouth.
“Ouch, indeed.” He produced a handkerchief to wipe the juice from her chin. “They all turned around and rode back to the house, where the bonnie younger lass was found behind the cauldron. ‘Give her the shoe,’ the prince told the older sister, and when she took it off, they all gasped to see that she had clipped off part of her toes to get it on.”
A grimace on her face, Mary reached beneath the table to grasp her own miniature toes. “Did the shoe fit the little sister?”
“It fit perfectly, and she’d no need to cut her toes, either.” He grinned at Mary’s giggle. “When the prince saw that it fit, he took the older sister off his horse and put the younger one there instead. And they rode to his castle for the wedding.”
“A big castle, and a wedding like yesterday.” Mary sighed, her eyes lit with memory. “Was it beautiful?”
“I’m sure it was.”
“And did they live happily ever after?”
“Of course they did. For a hundred years and a day.”
“A hundred years?” Clarice sounded exasperated. “You’ll put even more dreams in my daughter’s head.”
The daughter in question hopped down from her mother’s lap and clambered onto Cameron’s lap instead. “There’s nothing wrong with dreaming,” he told Clarice over Mary’s curly head.
“Not until you wake up,” Clarice said softly.
“You still have dreams,” Mary disagreed. “In the night, sometimes I hear you dreaming.”
“I suspect those are more like nightmares,” Cameron said dryly.
A knock came at the door, and Mary sprang from his lap to answer it, squealing with delight when she saw a small, dark-haired girl. “Anne!” She turned to Clarice, her big blue eyes wide with hope. “Mama? Please, can I play? Oh, please?”
“Run along, poppet,” Clarice said. “But mind you finish your chores later.”
The door banged shut, and she turned to Cam with a motherly shake of her head. Then she blushed suddenly. “You should leave,” she murmured. “It’s unseemly for us to be alone.”
When he made no move to depart, she bent her head back to her bowl of strawberries. A spell passed where all he could hear was the liquidy sound of her work, her soft breathing, and the beat of his own heart in the still room.
“You really must leave,” she said at last. “As it is, I’ll be spending all night convincing my daughter she won’t be trying on a shoe and ending up in a castle.”
“But, Clarice, I live in a castle. Though it’s nothing like Cainewood, more’s the pity.” He raised her hand and kissed it lightly, making her eyes widen. Crivvens, how he loved her unexpected mixture of straightforwardness and seeming innocence. “I’m wondering if I could persuade you to accompany me home to see it.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight. Her cheeks flushed pink. “You’re jesting.”
“Maybe.” She looked so pretty when flustered, he couldn’t resist teasing her a wee bit more. “But one never knows what the future may bring.”
“Tomorrow?” she echoed, looking dazed.
He nodded and stood. “I won’t put your reputation at jeopardy by staying here with you alone,” he said, making his way toward the door. “But I’ll come tomorrow, and together we’ll decide if I’m jesting or not.”
Without waiting to see her reaction, he slipped outside, letting loose a resounding sneeze as he made his way through her garden. Whistling tunelessly on the walk back to the castle, he wondered if he’d been jesting at all.
FIVE
THE NEXT DAY, Clarice returned from her morning errands to find Sir Cameron sitting on the low stone wall in front of her cottage, looking altogether too good for her comfort.
Beneath a jaunty brown hat, his hair ruffled in the breeze. Her husband’s hair had been a coarse gray, but Sir Cameron’s was a silky mixture of blonds and browns. As she pictured herself running her fingers through it, her hand tightened around Mary’s, and she realized she’d thought about him all the night and morning.
Whatever was happening to her? It had to stop.
Her daughter broke from her grasp and went skipping down the lane, straight into Sir Cameron’s arms. He stood and swung her in a wide circle, clearly delighting in her high-pitched squeal. Holding a basket heaped with strawberries, Clarice couldn’t help smiling as she came near.
It wasn’t stopping.
He settled Mary on one hip, his nose buried in her blond curls, and Clarice could tell he was enjoying her daughter’s sweet, childish scent. She’d never imagined a young man would appreciate a thing like that.
“I’ve a mind to go rowing on the river,” he told Clarice.
“Oh.” She looked down at the toes of her neat black shoes. “I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“I meant with you,” he said, making her glance up.
His lopsided grin displayed those dimples that made a giggle want to bubble out of her. But Clarice Bradford didn’t giggle.
“And Mary, of course,” he added as he set her on her feet.